“It’s silly for them to heed a man like that!”

“It’s worse than silly, sorr,” the policeman said.  “But even then I don’t believe there would have been trouble.  But yisterday, some rich lady, plannin’ to give the children a picnic this afternoon and a treat, told them they were all goin’ out to the country and that they must tell their mothers they wouldn’t be home until late.”

“What about that?” asked the boy.  “I should think they would be glad that the children should have some pleasure.  From all I’ve seen recently of the way people live in this neighborhood, I don’t believe the children have any too much good times.”

“An’ so they should be glad, sorr, but they won’t see it that way.  They know the children have been drilled for weeks an’ weeks; they know a man on the street corner said the children ought to be shipped away; an’ the next day they are told that the children are goin’ to be taken into the country, an’ they don’t believe the children’ll ever come back.”

“Surely they can’t be as silly as all that!  And what do you suppose they want to do?”

“They don’t know what they want,” the policeman answered, “but it’s a bad business when a crowd gathers.  Look there now!”

Hamilton looked where the man was pointing.  On the outskirts of the crowd the boy noted a number of half-grown toughs, hoodlums, and trouble-makers generally.  The cries were increasing, and the boy could see that these men were doing all they could to stir up the rest of the crowd.

“Where they come from, I don’t know,” the police officer said, “but any time that there’s a little trouble, they’ll make it as big as they can.”

“But the whole thing’s so absurd,” the boy said.  “What do they think they’re going to do,—­raid the school?” He laughed.

The policeman turned on him quickly.

“’Tis absurd, as ye say, sorr,” he said rebukingly “but there’s many a good man been hurt with less cause than this.  That crowd’s growin’ by thousands.  Do you slip away, sorr, I’m afraid there’s goin’ to be trouble.”

“Not much,” Hamilton answered, “now I’m in this far, I’m going to stay and see the fun out.”

“Well then, sorr,” advised the policeman, “ye’d better slip through the school gates.  Show your census badge, and the other men at the gate will let ye through.”

Thanking him, Hamilton walked across the narrow stretch of road between the foremost ranks of the crowd and the little group of policemen gathered in front of the school entrance.  As he did so, a bottle came whizzing at his head with deadly aim.  Fortunately he had been keeping his head partly turned curiously toward the crowd, and he saw the missile in time to dodge.  It missed him and went hurtling on, just passing between two policemen and smashing on the iron bars of the railing.

“You nearly got hit that time,” said one of the policemen, as Hamilton showed his badge and was let through.  “How did you get in with them?”